Aleister Wept
by Armagnac
Summary: B hated nothing more than he hated fate, and A wanted a life worth living.  For different reasons, L was important to them both.  Rated M for language/violence/gore/noncon.  Some spoilers for Death Note: Another Note, and my story The Worst Feeling Ever.
1. Overture

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: B hated nothing more than he hated fate, and A wanted a life worth living. For different reasons, L was important to them both. Rated M for language/violence/gore. Some spoilers for Death Note: Another Note, and my story The Worst Feeling Ever.

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**Aleister Wept**

"Things we see coming still have the power to shock and dismay us when they arrive. No one wants to believe in fate – or I suppose no one who imagines that misfortune is likely would want to believe in it. Realism forces us to hope for free will, whether we have it or not."

– Quillish Wammy, 1953

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**1. Overture**

August 1, 1998

_"There was nothing you could have done."_

As many times as he'd heard it, he knew in every instance that it was a lie. A kind lie, perhaps, though often the kinder of lies did more damage in the long run. He'd nodded politely at each lie, taking small comfort in the intent if not the content.

Everything was always someone's fault. In fact, things were generally several someones' faults, particularly when unintentional consequences were taken into account. _No one escapes personal responsibility_, he thought, _regardless of whether they acknowledge it_. _Not me, not anyone_. _They are responsible for the actions they took, and I am responsible for the actions I did not take_. He was trying to find some lesson in it all, but the only one that sprang to his mind was one he'd already learned: Do not get personally involved. Worse, he knew that the dead boy would have disagreed with him vehemently. They'd argued so often. He wished he could argue with him still, if only to hear his voice and know that he was still in the world.

The question "Why" would not leave his head. Oh, he could think of numerous possible explanations and motivations, all stemming from certain personality traits as well as preceding events. But none of it justified the decision. _Why would he do this_, he thought, _after everything he had weathered before?_ _He had the strength of will_. _He understood his importance_ . . .

For a moment, he stopped pacing. _Did he not know?_ he wondered. _Did I fail to convey how integral he was to all this?_ Thumb leaving his mouth, he pressed his hand to his forehead. _Or was this murder after all?_

When he'd first heard the news, murder was his immediate thought, followed by a certainty of who the murderer must be. The evidence had refuted him, however. Even if there had been no eyewitnesses, the security footage was clear enough. The boy who had never learned to swim had executed a perfect swan dive from the bell tower. The angled sunlight had illuminated his face as he'd stared straight out across the treeline, his features in sharp relief as he spread his arms – but that wasn't the chilling part, nor was the splatter of blood and bone and brain when his skull had shattered on the cobblestones of the courtyard at Wammy House. No, it was the smile he'd had as he'd made the jump. Under other circumstances, an observer might have said he looked truly joyful. And if that observer had known him very well, he might have said that he looked more joyful than he ever had before.

_Perhaps I never truly knew him_, he thought, swallowing. _Perhaps he kept more to himself than I realized_. Sighing, he turned back to the box of the boy's personal effects. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know him more now that he was gone, but he had no choice. Knowing was his business, and understanding was his obligation. _I owe him no less than that and much more than I can ever repay_. Reaching in, L pulled out a stack of envelopes, his eyes drawn to the sole unopened one. Setting aside his expectations for the sake of objectivity, he slid a long pale finger under the flap and opened the envelope marked simply "Algernon."

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

_DON'T stop reading this, Ally-oop – not until the end!_

_I know you hate me. I don't blame you – I'd hate me too. But this is too important not to tell you, and since you won't talk to me, I'm writing it. 3 days from now, you're going to die. I kept it from you for so long because I was trying to find a way to stop it. I'm still trying – I haven't given up. Because I don't hate you, and I don't want you to die._

_Remember when I proved it to you? All those names and dates I wrote down when we went into Winchester that time? You kept the list, I know it. And they all died when I said they would. You didn't want to believe it – hell, you accused me of killing them somehow when we both knew that was impossible. I never lied to you. I kept some stuff from you, stuff I knew you wouldn't want to know, but I never lied, and I'm not lying now. YOU ARE GOING TO DIE._

_I don't know how it's going to happen – I never know that. A date is all I get, that plus a name. There's one more thing I want to try: locking you up in a safe room. Did you know there's a bomb shelter underneath the basement? Roger thinks no one knows, but I found out AND I know the code to get in. We can stock that place with enough food and water for a few days and seal you in there, just until the date has passed. We can talk via the commlink, if you want to. It might not work, but there's a chance it could. You know how much I love being right, but I want to be wrong this time. I want you to live._

_You can keep hating me. Like I said, I understand. But I want you to try not to die. If you can think of a better plan, go for it – I'll help if you'll let me. You probably won't believe this, but I'd switch places with you if I could. Then again, you probably wouldn't believe I'd write such a sappy letter as this anyway. I had to, though. I fucking hate fate, and I'm tired of it winning. Just once, I want to win. Don't you?_

_For what it's worth, I really am sorry. Even if you never stop hating me, you'll never stop being my best friend. They may have called you Algernon Lyell Oppenheimer when you were born, but you'll always be Ally-oop to me._

_C'mon Ally – we're a team, remember? One more time, let's defy the odds._

_The Beeb_

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

Author's Note: This is one of the angstier things I've written. It's a prequel to Death Note, and fits in with most of the other fanfics I've written for that. I had considered folding Aleister's story into a longer story, but I decided he deserved the spotlight this time. This will have seven parts, and the "chapters" will generally be shorter than mine usually are. I decided to rate this M just to be on the safe side, but any input you'd like to offer will be appreciated.

Definition: Overture – beginning; opening theme

Songs: "Last One in the World" – Mark Lanegan

"Sugar" – System of a Down


	2. Adagio

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: B hated nothing more than he hated fate, and A wanted a life worth living. For different reasons, L was important to them both. Rated M for language/violence/gore. Some spoilers for Death Note: Another Note, and my story The Worst Feeling Ever.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Aleister Wept**

It was as if he'd hidden this part of himself in order to deceive me, pretending – as do many people I've discovered – to be what he is not. No one I've ever known is what he appears to be on the surface.

– excerpt from "Flowers for Algernon," by Daniel Keyes

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**2. Adagio**

December 18, 1996

"Are you barking mad?"

"Aroooo!" The dark-haired boy leaned into the howl, hands on knees where he stood, before dissolving into laughter. "I'm a dog in heat, just like your mother!"

"Oh clever, so you're saying that not only was my Mum a bitch, so are you?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Henh, henh, henh – I'm more of a cunt than a bitch, so . . . yeah, just like your mom." The boy winked. "C'mon, Ally-oop, we used to do this all the time!"

Aleister rolled his eyes. "We're not kids anymore, Beyond – it's just silly at this point."

"So, it's silly. Don't be such a buzzkill."

"It's just . . ." Aleister crossed his arms and sat back down. "After our last jaunt took us across the pond and into the middle of an investigation that nearly got us all killed, nicking a car to joyride into town seems trivial at best."

"Well, it _is_ trivial, but it'll still be fun. C'mon – for old times' sake?"

"Since when are you nostalgic for old times?"

"I dunno. I guess getting sliced up and left for dead infected me with sentimentality."

He stared into the other boy's face, the dark eyes reflecting nothing. Eventually, he sighed. "Honestly, Beyond, you needn't guilt me into it. I just wondered at the reason. You always have one."

"Maybe I've got plans you don't know about."

"That's the bit that worries me."

"Henh, henh, then you should thank me. You never feel complete without something to worry about." Beyond grinned.

"Hyperbolic nonsense. And there's plenty I could worry about without your adding to it." Aleister rubbed his chin with a knuckle. "What time then?"

Beyond's eyes lit up. "Three P.M. Broad daylight. They won't expect _that_. The kids'll still be in class, Roger will probably be on the phone again with Wammy –"

"What? I thought they'd already left Paris."

"They did, but something's up. Roger's still sneaking off to his office for phone calls. I overheard him working out the details for a new alias, but not one of L's. Whatever's going on, it's taken them to three different continents. The only thing I know for sure is Roger's eye will be off the ball this afternoon." Beyond tilted his head, still staring. "And hey, it's one week 'til Christmas and all the shop windows will be decorated in that fucking 'quaint' way you seem to like."

Aleister waved a hand upward as if shooing a fly. "Don't pretend you're doing this for me. I know better."

"OK, fine. I'm doing this for me. How's that?" Beyond shrugged and shuffled toward the door. "Meet me behind the stairs at three, and cover your tracks."

"You're not going to let me in on your supposed plans?"

"And ruin the surprise?" Beyond looked over his shoulder, eyebrow cocked. "Not on your life." And then he left the room.

"Why do I go along with these things . . ." Aleister muttered absently, though he knew why. He needed to engage his mind with things outside of it. Beyond needed support, and more than ever Aleister felt he might be the one person who could provide it, even if the only help he could offer was to keep Beyond's more destructive propensities in check. Certainly Beyond was not in the habit of openly discussing his feelings – unless those feelings happened to be anger or lust. This was as close as Aleister had ever seen him admit to liking Christmas, something Beyond had vehemently denied the first year they'd met.

Beyond enjoyed showing off his new scar, a tipped parenthesis arcing at the lower left edge of his ribcage, evidence of his having healed up nicely from the incident two months ago. Physically, at least. He still hid behind walls of bravado and snark, so it was difficult to tell how deep the psychological damage ran. Going on their annual pre-holiday lark could indicate that Beyond was coping by grasping at the familiar, and whether there was desperation in that or not, Aleister couldn't deny him such comfort. He felt that his friend might benefit from maintaining the tradition, whatever Beyond's unreasoned reasoning was. So they would ride into town, charge up the Wammy House credit card, cause some sort of mayhem, and get in trouble for it when they returned. All part of the ritual, something for the two of them alone. In a way, Aleister had been looking forward to it or something like it, despite what they'd just been through, despite how different things seemed now.

More worrisome were Beyond's other behaviors recently. He'd always had a habit of mimicking L – usually to his face, and always to mock him – but he'd started to incorporate some of L's habits into his own, seemingly minus the irony. The hunched-over stance, the blank staring, the head-tilting, the thumb at his lip . . . it was all there, and if Aleister called him on it, Beyond snapped at him, barking out denials. That was new. Previously, Beyond had been cheerful about admitting he was baiting him. _So why pretend he's not?_ Aleister wondered. _Is he really not conscious of it?_

Pushing off with one foot, Aleister spun in his chair to face his desk. His mostly empty desk. He'd already finished his final thesis on astrophysics after completing his detailed account of the events in Toronto for the archived case file. Frankly, he was bored. He considered going downstairs to see what the other Wammy House residents were up to, but he somehow felt drained despite not having expended much energy all day.

_Depression, is it?_ Aleister sighed, moving the mouse to disrupt the screensaver, winged kitchen appliances disappearing. _Not a good sign_, he thought. _Perhaps a distraction_ . . . He swallowed. _I shouldn't do this – it won't help_ . . . But as ever, his hands disobeyed his conscience as he accessed the codes and hacked into Roger's files to trace the last infodump the man had received from the field. After a few moments, the screen filled with data.

_Bloody hell, Australia?_ Aleister marveled, staring at the itineraries and case details. He supposed that Beyond might not have been exaggerating this time if they'd gone all the way down there from Europe. He scrutinized the information on the case, but his fears were not confirmed: there was no indication that Eraldo Coil was involved in this at all, and it seemed doubtful that Deneuve was either. _Then why is my stomach in knots?_ Aleister wondered. L and Watari weren't in any more danger than usual, and in fact had been taking steps to stay safer. The feeling of trepidation wouldn't leave him, despite the facts staring him in the face. _Maybe it's that things seem too normal when they shouldn't_. _Or maybe it's that I know he's not coming home this time_.

Aleister broke the link and removed all traces of his systemic ingress. No one had told him that L wasn't coming home for Christmas, but he was certain it was true. L hadn't bothered to come home for his birthday this year, and both Watari and Roger had been spinning the notion for months that L wasn't the real L but a proxy. Aleister didn't think it was fooling anyone, except possibly the youngest residents, but he played along. _If it adds to their safety_, he thought, _I'm all for it_. _It wouldn't change anything for me if he weren't the 'real' L – well, I suppose it might change some things_. Aleister rubbed his temples.

As much as there might be out in the world that threatened L's safety, what Aleister most wished was that L would be safe from himself. The decisions he'd been making had shown a disquieting trend toward the darker shades or moral grey. Their last conversation had been an argument on that exact subject, and had ended unsurprisingly at another stalemate. Thinking of what L might become if the trend continued filled Aleister with dread. So much was at stake, much more than just the personal relationships of a handful of orphans. And if L continued to stay away from Wammy House . . . _I don't want our last conversation to have been us shouting at each other_, he thought. _Even if we never agree, I want him to know I'm on his side_.

He couldn't tell Beyond that. Beyond hated L. Despite having the intelligence and insight to understand more of the nuances and complexities of the world around them than most people, Beyond always chose to focus and act on extremes. Aleister wondered sometimes if it was due to overstimulation, emotional and otherwise. _He's always going too far_, he thought. _It's a wonder he hasn't looped himself yet_. With a start, Aleister realized that he was worrying about both L and Beyond for somewhat similar reasons, and he frowned. _Blimey, Beyond's got me conflating the two of them in my head now – that's never good_. _I know the differences_. _Some things are inescapable_. Aleister closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

Finding himself rolling backwards, arm outstretched toward the hidden spot behind his bed, Aleister felt his hands go sweaty. He didn't have the energy to admonish himself at this point as he pulled the laptop out of the wall compartment he'd made. No one else knew about this, and no one needed to know. _My secret, my time_. The laptop had the advantage of not being networked with the rest of Wammy House, and he wouldn't be using it to access the internet anyway. Glad of his auto-locking bedroom door, Aleister booted up his secret computer and prepared to access a certain set of files – images saved that should never have been kept – taking his own risks and a turn toward another kind of darkness.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

Author's Note: I'm including dates to keep things as clear as I can. Those dates sync up with the manga timeline, though it's not strictly necessary to keep that in mind. More to come soon.

Thanks for reading!

Definition: Adagio – "at ease"; slow in tempo

Songs: "Naked Eye" – Luscious Jackson

"AEnima" – Tool


	3. Scherzo

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: B hated nothing more than he hated fate, and A wanted a life worth living. For different reasons, L was important to them both. Rated M for language/violence/gore. Some spoilers for Death Note: Another Note, and my story The Worst Feeling Ever.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Aleister Wept**

When everybody agrees, when people are unanimous, how does one man dare to dissent?

– excerpt from _Atlas Shrugged_, by Ayn Rand

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**3. Scherzo**

May 1, 1997

The spinning was making him think of carnivals, the seedy kind with the dubious midway games and shitty prizes and the rides held together with duct tape and wishful thinking. _Tilt-A-Whirl_, he thought; _that's what this feels like, except without the fucking Bon Jovi blasting out of blown speakers_. _I liked it better when they played AC/DC anyway_. Beyond grinned. _I should have done this a long time ago_.

Nearly tripping over the root of an old elm tree, he threw out a hand to steady himself, palm pressed to rough bark, too amused at his own unsteadiness to spew any expletives. Beyond could no longer remember where he'd stashed the spent fifth of Jameson's, though he supposed it didn't matter now that the contents were within him. _Roger's gonna be so pissed at me_, he thought, grinning. _I hope I get to see that_. _Henh, speaking of pissed_ . . .

Heedless of any eyes that might be on him from the House, distant as it was, Beyond liberated himself from his pants and proceeded to water the tree. He was still dizzy and so kept his other hand locked onto the trunk. Giggling as his urine formed a pool nestled between the tree roots, his mind wandered, watching reflections of light in liquid. He found himself wishing there was an actual carnival going on. Multi-colored lights, blinking, and cacophonous noise – laughter and screaming mixed with the jangling of machinery and the loopy twirl of calliope music in the air – not to mention the clashing scents of popcorn, cotton candy, funnel cake and hot dogs with sauerkraut. _They don't do it the same here_, Beyond thought, _but then maybe they don't do it the same over there anymore either_.

All in all, Beyond supposed it had been one of his better birthdays. The warmth of the spring day after several days of clouds and drizzle had brought more children out to play in the yard – the better for him to tease and terrorize them. Of the younger set, Mello was the only one who gave back as good as he got. _That kid's going place_s, he thought, _whether he or any of the rest of them know it or not_. _Seven years old and brass balls already_. Beyond wondered if the boy would prove to be competition for him further down the line. _No point worrying about that_. _Only L is in the way_. _I can handle him_. Observing that his flow had ceased, he shook himself and pushed off from the tree, still grinning, before shambling toward the House.

"I might have known you'd be wandering around the yard after midnight. With your willy out, no less. Heading toward the girl's wing? Or is it to be the staff's quarters, considering your antics earlier?"

"Allyyyyy!" Beyond flung himself at the shorter boy and grasped him around the shoulders.

"Gah! What has got into you?" Aleister sputtered, trying to pull away.

"Whiskey. Lots of it." Beyond continued his bear hug, relishing his friend's apparent discomfort. "I would have shared with you, if you hadn't been such a pussy about it."

"Honestly, Beyond, I just don't see the point in getting drunk. We've done it before, with disastrous results as I recall, and there's nothing interesting about it. Not to mention that hungover is an awful way to spend the day after. You seem even further gone this time." Craning his neck to pull his face away from Beyond's, sniffing at him, Aleister regarded him warily. "How much _did_ you have?"

"Henh, henh, henh – I plead the _fifth_." Beyond didn't bother to hold back the spittle on pronouncing the final word.

"Bloody hell . . ." Aleister shifted to better bear Beyond's weight. "Come on, then. We're going inside. Tuck the bishop away."

"Aw, can't you do it for me? I can barely walk, and hey, it's more wiener than you've had in, like, ever . . ." Abruptly, Beyond found himself on the ground, splat on his ass. "Hey!"

"Fuck you." Aleister glared down at him, fists clenched. "You want to stay out here on your own and stumble about in your own piss like the drunken imbecile you are? Fine then. Best get used to it now, I suppose. I won't always be around to clean up your fucking messes."

"You're not around now!" Beyond scowled, hating the sound of his voice. He switched to more of a growl. "We don't hang out like we used to, and then, on my fucking _birthday_, you barely put in an appearance when Roger brought out my cake. We used to make plans! We used to –"

"We used to do a number of things, most of which you've lost interest in, not me!" Aleister interrupted. "I had work to do, as it happens. And since when do you care about birthday cake?"

"Hey, Roger promised that he'd put strawberry jam in between the layers of red velvet, and he actually did it! That would have made a pretty mess when I started the food fight, but when I turned around you were gone. What's the point of causing mayhem if you're not even _there_ . . ."

"Lovely. So my entire purpose in life is to be a witness to your debauched madness and destruction? I'm honored, really." Aleister crossed his arms, staring down at him.

"Better some purpose than none." Beyond let himself lay back, wondering how far off dawn was, feeling the new grass on his outstretched arms and a cool breeze on his exposed flesh. _Guess I drank too much to be able to be the Maypole_, he thought, giggling aloud.

"Everyone has a purpose, Beyond. It doesn't save you from having to choose a path." Sighing, Aleister turned away, toward the lights of the House.

"Ally, Ally, Ally, Ally . . . I'll tell you his name if you want me to . . ."

Aleister seemed to freeze, still as a stone. When his voice came, it was low. "Don't tell me things I shouldn't know. It's not right."

"Henh, henh, henh, but you waaaaant to know . . ." Beyond rolled his head to one side, watching Aleister's silhouette closely, despite the shift and tilt of the horizon as if he was on a ship in calm seas. "You used to beg me to tell you."

"I never begged you." Aleister snapped. "Why bother telling me now?"

"Because I can. Because I feel like it. Because I miss you." A chill settled in Beyond's chest. He hadn't meant to say that much. Watching his friend turn toward him, he lay frozen on the grass, waiting.

"If you're being that maudlin, you're beyond drunk."

For a moment, the silence held, and then Beyond was cackling into it, shattering the calm of the night. Aleister, he noticed, even cracked a smile, the dim light strobing once across his boyish features as Beyond writhed at his feet. "Beyond . . . drunk! Exactly! Henh, henh, henh!"

"You're hopeless, you know." Aleister crouched down, his expression almost doting. "Are you going to keep wriggling like a pig in shit, or would you like to come in now?"

"Can't I do both?"

"Not well . . ."

"Eh. Fine." Beyond propped himself up on his elbows. "There's still time to get you drunk too."

"Might be better if I stay sober to mind you."

"Henh, so which outfit will you wear, nanny or nurse?"

"I'll be wearing the 'preternaturally patient friend' outfit."

"Meh – you always wear that." Beyond lifted his member and wiggled it. "Sure you won't give me a hand?"

"Give yourself a hand later, you berk. Put it away."

"Aw." Beyond begrudgingly stowed his member back out of sight and zipped up his trousers. "But I'm sweet 16 and never been kissed!" He batted his eyelashes in an obscene parody of innocence.

"Is that what you told Sheila the cleaning lady when you reached into her blouse and grabbed her tits?"

"Henh, henh, henh, no, but I should have!" Gripping Aleister's hand, Beyond unsteadily regained his feet. "Man, those things were so floppy. I almost had 'em both out before she screamed!"

"You're so awful." Aleister's admonishment was accompanied by a barely concealed smirk. "I don't know what on earth possessed you."

"Henh – that's true, titties aren't your thing." Beyond hiccupped and felt his stomach lurch. _Oh hell no_, he thought, _I am not throwing up – puke is for the weak_. Swallowing gingerly as he shambled along, one arm slung around Aleister, he recalled a previous instance when he'd been in the same position with someone else, and it reminded him of what he'd forgotten to say. Head tilting back, Beyond whispered in Aleister's ear: "Don't tell anyone you know this, but L's real name is _L_."

Aleister stopped walking, his grip on Beyond's arm tight. "_That's_ what you wanted to tell me? All that lead-up for a cheap joke?" He shook his head, wisps of his hair tickling Beyond's forehead as he started forward again. "Trust me, you're much funnier when you're sober."

"But that's the funny part, Ally-oop – I'm not joking! That's really his name! Now, if you want me to tell you his _last_ name, that'll cost ya . . ."

"Oh, let me guess, his surname's L as well? And is he also a rap star on the side? Honestly, Beyond, even drunk I know you can do better than that."

"Henh, henh, well, don't say I never told you any secrets, buddy. It's just there's always more to know."

Stepping into one of the rectangular pools of light spilling from the great room, Beyond felt like he was crossing a border back onto familiar terrain – too familiar. Too many steps retraced, too many possibilities exhausted. _I've got to get out of this place soon_, he thought, _before it drives me insane_. _I just have to convince Ally-oop to come with me, or he'll never be safe_.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

Author's Note: It's interesting to get into Beyond's head. I dislike it when writers portray him as some over-the-top mustache-twirling villain (OK, substitute "strawberry-jam-swilling" for "mustache twirling" – you get the idea). He's not yet who he'll become, but he's getting there.

Thanks for reading!

Definition: Scherzo – light-hearted in theme

Songs: "Dig Me Out" – Sleater-Kinney

"Cupid's Trick" – Elliott Smith


	4. Incalzando

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: B hated nothing more than he hated fate, and A wanted a life worth living. For different reasons, L was important to them both. Rated T for language/violence/gore. Some spoilers for Death Note: Another Note, and my story The Worst Feeling Ever.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Aleister Wept**

It's early morning

No one is awake

I'm back at my cliff

Still throwing things off

I listen to the sounds they make

On their way down

I follow with my eyes 'til they crash

Imagine what my body would sound like

Slamming against those rocks

When it lands

Will my eyes

Be closed or open?

– excerpt from "Hyperballad," by Bjork

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**4. Incalzando**

September 16, 1997

The headache was starting to go away, though he was certain another would take its place when dawn broke. He hoped Roger would leave him be until lunch time so that he had some chance of getting a nap in before then, but he expected the odds of that were low. He rubbed his eyes. _Good job I've not started calculating percentages of the odds_, he thought. _Wouldn't that be bloody ridiculous_.

Pulling the half-empty teacup toward him, Aleister almost laughed. _Considering the amount of time I expend thinking about the man_, he thought, _it'd be less surprising if I were the one mimicking L_. He shook his head. _At least we're on better terms now, even if I haven't seen him in nearly a year_. Aleister sipped at the lukewarm tea. _Can't believe he finally took my advice and let me help him a bit, even if I am stuck here doing it_ . . .

It had been mid-April when L had contacted him and asked for help with a case – or, more accurately, with something that might become a case if his conjecture was correct. The written note, in spiky handwriting, had been brief and to the point: "Please track this month's financial transactions for the attached companies and contact me with your conclusions." No name, no signature, nothing on the envelope that had been shoved under his door. If Aleister hadn't recognized the penmanship, he might have mistaken it for a belated April Fool's joke. While Beyond was adept at many things, however, forgery was not among them. So Aleister had taken it seriously and investigated, discovering what looked like a money laundering scheme but seemed to be hiding something else. When he'd conveyed that to L via a note slipped into a shipment of assorted baked goods from Roger, L had express-shipped a cellphone to Aleister. Dodging into the garage to immediately throw the packaging in the bin, Aleister found that the phone was affixed with a Post-It, a phone number on it in the same hand with the following instruction: "Call when you get this. Tell no one else."

Sneaking off to a hidden spot to make the call, Aleister had been giddy at hearing L's voice again, but the feeling had passed when L had told him what he needed. _All business, nothing personal – what a surprise_, he'd thought. L's assessment was that the money laundering was hiding some action of Eraldo Coil's, despite the man being in a Canadian prison, and to stop the process then would be to tip their hand that they were onto him, possibly causing Coil to hide his operation more effectively. L needed Aleister to continue to track the transactions and look for any changes or hidden patterns. As jobs went, it was very dry – and Aleister had been doing this for months now. Worse had been L's insistence that Aleister not tell anyone what he was working on, "especially not B," as he'd put it. Aleister was already keeping a fair few things from Beyond, and he didn't like adding to it, but he did want L to trust him. More than that, he wanted to work and be useful now rather than wait around to succeed L, even if the terms were that he would be an offsite helper. It was _something_. It would have to be enough.

A knock at the door made him jump. _Bloody hell, already?_ Aleister thought, trying not to scowl. He knew who it wasn't – Beyond would have picked the lock and barged right in. "Hang on . . ." Aleister muttered, hoping he sounded suitably half-asleep as he tucked all of his paperwork away. He deliberately mussed his hair and pinched one cheek before opening the door. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Don't pretend you've been asleep, you whelp. I'm not an imbecile." Roger pushed past him into the room.

Rubbing his eyes, Aleister struggled to form a non-insolent reply. "Why are you here?" _Hm, not exactly a success, that_, he thought.

"You know damn well why!" Roger glowered. "Now where is he?"

Aleister blinked. "What? Where is who?"

"Don't give me that – who else would I ask you about at four in the morning?"

All things considered, Aleister estimated that it could be one of at least three people, possibly four, but the most likely candidate was easy to discern. "Bugger. What's he done now?"

"As if you don't know! If there's one scratch on that Rolls Royce, Quills will have my head!"

"Why the bloody hell would he take one of the limos? That makes no –"

"It's no use pretending you don't know, so out with it! Tell me the truth!"

Aleister's head was pounding now. "The truth? Oh, you want the _truth_, Roger? Right then! I don't know where Beyond's got to because he doesn't fucking tell me things anymore! He's more likely to chat up Mello than me, but before you go terrorizing a seven-year-old in his bed, maybe you'd like to put a bit more thought into it!"

"What? You –"

"Has Beyond seemed even half right since we came back from Toronto last year? Moreover, have you bothered to have even a single proper conversation with him since? One that didn't involve you shouting and storming off?" Aleister's face felt hot, but he couldn't stop. "I know he's challenging to deal with – I know that better than anyone, I expect – but if you'd put any effort into it whatsoever then at least you'd have a better idea of what he's doing and why! He's a _person_, not a wild animal that gets out of its cage once in awhile. Oh, and by the way, if you haven't installed tracking beacons in all of the cars, especially considering how often we've nicked them, then it's your fault for not knowing where he is."

Roger's mouth, which had been hanging open, snapped shut. Wordlessly, he walked back to the door, face red. He reached for the doorknob and hesitated, turning to look over his shoulder. "We've always had trackers in the vehicles – he used to disable them, until he got clever and detached them, leaving them behind still functioning, so we'd think the car was still there." He sighed. "I know what Beyond is, better than you do. If he isn't even talking to you now, then God help us all." Exiting, Roger kept his eyes down, the closing door a muted punctuation.

"Well. Fuck." Aleister sat on the bed, hoping he still had some ibuprofen left. He did not want to have to ask Roger for anything, not now that he'd yelled at the man. Venting his anger had felt almost good. Almost. _Beyond would be so proud of me_, he thought. Between the throbbing cranium and the wave of guilt, Aleister was feeling considerably less good now. He bent forward, elbows on knees, and cradled his head in his hands.

_They're getting worse_, he thought, willing himself to move. A few steps to the dresser, a few little brown pills in his palm, tossed down his throat with the last of his tea, and he was back on his bed in the same position. He tried to breathe gently. _Is minding Beyond all I'm really good for?_ Aleister wondered. _Is that all I'll ever be, a B-keeper?_ Breathy laughter spilled from his mouth, worsening his headache. _I should tell Beyond that, he'd love it_. _Well, he'd hate it, but he'd laugh_.

To say that they no longer spoke to each other was an exaggeration – Aleister and Beyond had simply been spending less and less time together, to the point that weeks could go by without a single conversation between them. The last time they'd talked, in August, Aleister had said "You keep disappearing. You don't say anything – you just go. I don't understand why you don't leave Wammy House for good. What's the point in coming back if you hate it here?"

And Beyond's response? "I hate it everywhere, so that doesn't matter. People have been abandoning you your whole life, Ally-oop. Even L. I'm not gonna be one of them. When I leave, I'm taking you with me. We're a team, even if you've forgotten that. Stand together or fall apart – I know which one _I'm_ choosing."

Arguing that they weren't kids anymore and that their supposed fates weren't tied to each other had been futile. Beyond seemed to stubbornly ignore the fact that they were growing apart – had, in fact, grown apart. Aleister wasn't sure what to do about it. He had considered leaving Wammy House himself to strike out on his own. Aleister was 17 now, and the orphanage could not legally stop him. There were really only three reasons why he'd stayed: 1. he didn't want to risk losing touch with L; 2. Wammy House felt like home to him, and he didn't mind playing big brother to the other orphans; and 3. he knew Beyond would follow him, and he hadn't figured out how to deal with that. Aleister didn't want to be linked forever to Beyond. He was tired of trying to bridge the widening gap between them. If he was going to leave, he wanted to be truly independent. No plan he could think of would not result in Beyond tracking him down. _I can't even fake my own death_, he thought. _If Beyond really does know what he says he knows, he'd see through any pretense of that kind_.

When Aleister thought of _those_ conversations with Beyond, speaking in hushed tones out of range of everyone else, he was torn between wanting to dismiss the notion of a fated death as childish nonsense and feeling chilled to the bone. He'd looked for ways to disprove Beyond's claims, to expose the trick for what it was, a sick joke, but if the death knowledge had been faked, then Beyond had done an excellent job of hiding his method. Aleister hoped Beyond was wrong. Or at least lying. Not for reasons pertaining to his own death but because he hated the idea that some arbitrary date had been determined for the end of every person's existence. Aleister accepted that there were things – multiple things – he could not control, but to be told that no matter what happened, no matter what choices he made, that his life would end as scheduled . . . It was maddening. It gave him a glimpse into what Beyond claimed he'd had to face his whole life, and every part of him wanted to reject it . . . and by extension, Beyond.

Adding to the impulse, each time Aleister saw Beyond wearing L's archetypical white long-sleeved t-shirt and baggy jeans while mimicking L's mannerisms, Aleister recoiled and found himself walking in the opposite direction. Beyond never took the hint, if he noticed. Once, Aleister had caught Beyond muttering to himself, alternating between his own natural gravelly yet nasal voice and his impression of L's as if he was simulating a conversation between them, and Aleister had backed away to avoid being seen. That had been far more disquieting than Beyond's post-birthday drunkenness. In some ways, he found himself pitying Beyond, which only amplified his guilt over their diverging paths. _Why were we ever friends?_ Aleister wondered. _Was I desperate for companionship?_ _Was he?_

A sharp clicking sound drew his attention, and he looked up in time to see the door swing wide, revealing the very subject of his thoughts. Aleister waited until the door shut before speaking. "So, did you drive it off a cliff, or is there a dead hooker in the boot?"

"Henh, henh, henh – guess you've been paying more attention than I thought." Beyond grabbed Aleister's chair away from the desk and spun it around to straddle it backwards, folding his arms over its back and leaning forward to stare at Aleister. "You look like crap."

Aleister rolled his eyes. "Then I look the same as always. I only knew you took the Rolls Royce because Roger just stormed in here to accuse me of being in on it."

"Shoe's on the other foot then. Now you know how it feels. Does it pinch a little?" Beyond grinned, the smell of cigarette smoke rolling off him.

"That arrangement was your idea entirely, _years_ ago, so you can drop the martyrdom bullshite."

"Aw, can I help it if I just want to share?" Beyond winked. "You're right, though – the martyrdom shtick is more your thing."

"Why are you here?"

"To tell you that I'm onto you."

Aleister narrowed his eyes. "Pfft – I'd bloody well notice _that_."

"Funny. And yeah, you'd notice alright." Beyond sneered. "What I mean, obviously, is that I know about you and L."

"Ah yes, you've got me now. L and I have tried to keep our torrid romance under wraps to no avail . . ."

"You wish." Beyond pointed a long index finger at him. "You're helping him. Or more accurately, he's using you. You're just another one of his pawns now. That's quite a demotion from successor."

Aleister kept his face blank. "You've no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, I've got proof. You were smart enough to keep it from Roger, but 'his Quills' wasn't. I wonder if L even realizes he has a leak . . ."

Aleister sighed. "Whatever 'proof' you have, your assessment's wrong. And no, I'm not corroborating any information for you. When I take an oath to keep something confidential, I honor it. I've certainly kept all your secrets."

"Some secrets aren't worth keeping." Beyond sneered. "Go ahead, tell my secrets. Not that anyone will believe you. Hell, you still don't really believe me, and I've shown you proof."

"Worth it or not, believable or not, I will keep them secret. You're wasting your time."

Beyond sighed, looking almost sad for a moment. "Actually, you're wasting _your_ time. The longer you stay here, the less you want to leave. You've trapped yourself. It's robbing you of opportunities you haven't even considered. There's a whole huge world outside these rotting walls. You can't keep letting fear stop you from diving in."

Blinking, Aleister sat up a bit straighter. "I'm not afraid. I know what I'm doing has purpose and worth, even if you don't approve. I can live with my choices. Though I suppose I should be afraid of 'diving' into anything, considering that I can't swim."

"Henh, henh. You don't have to know how to swim in order to dive any more than you need to know how to live in order to die – but it helps." Beyond stood, shoving the chair aside, and reached out to grasp Aleister's shoulders. "Stop stalling, Ally-oop. I can wait, but you can't."

And with that, Beyond was off, his words spinning in Aleister's head as the door opened and closed once more. Had it been another time, he might have argued with Beyond, shouted at him for trying to tantalize him with the unknowable, but he did not have the energy. He'd spent what he'd had left yelling at Roger, who was just a cranky old man trying to do his job protecting children whom he did not much like.

Aleister rubbed his forehead. Though he certainly enjoyed his moments of solitude, he didn't mind the other orphans – liked them, actually. When he thought of it, he could almost see himself taking over for Roger as caretaker one day. It was a role he thought suited him better than being a successor to L. Then again, any time he made some new discovery in a case, the thrill of solving it and the knowledge that he was actually helping people swiftly changed his mind. Aleister simply couldn't decide.

Two days ago, while setting the tables for dinner, he'd had an interesting conversation with Linda, who had been helping him. He'd asked her how her classes were going, expecting her usual bubbly response about liking art better than computer science, but instead she'd thought for a few moments before responding: "It doesn't seem right, what they're doing to us. Not everyone wants to be a detective."

He'd looked at the girl, surprised to see her so serious, and had found himself confiding in her as they placed silverware next to worn china plates. "Honestly, I don't know if I have it in me to become what I need to be. What's more, I don't even know that I want to."

Linda had turned and smiled up at him. "Oh, I've already decided not to try. They can't _make_ me. You can see what it does to you all – you, and Beyond, and that boy who's not L," she'd rolled her eyes, "It's messing you up inside. How do I know I'd even be useful if I'm not myself anymore? It's dumb. I'll find another way to help people. I won't even need to take credit! Like, I don't know, a people-helping ninja! That way, what I do can be a secret so I don't have to be." And she'd gone merrily back to plunking down cutlery as if she hadn't just blown his mind.

_Wisdom from a seven-year-old_, Aleister thought, shaking his head. He wondered what he might have done differently had he been so sure of himself at such an age. _Moot point now, I'd expect_. _I was damaged goods well before I got here anyway_. He hadn't needed to see their faces to know they were his parents when he'd found their bodies all those years ago, one month before his ninth birthday, any more than he'd needed to be told that his father had killed his mother before turning the shotgun on himself. What he wished more than anything was that he had not felt so relieved.

Slipping out of his shoes and under the covers, Aleister doused the light and curled in on himself, hoping that the brief respite of sleep would soothe him. The pale light of dawn was just peeking around the edge of the curtains as his eyelids shaded the windows of his mind.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

Author's Note: A bit more background on Aleister. It was fun writing Linda – I wanted her to seem a bit silly but still perceptive.

Thanks for reading!

Definition: Incalzando – increase in tempo and volume

Songs: "The Answer Is Still No" – No Use for a Name

"Favorite Things" – Incubus


	5. Crescendo

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: B hated nothing more than he hated fate. A wanted a life worth living. For different reasons, L was important to them both. Rated T for language/violence/gore/NONCON. Some spoilers for Death Note: Another Note, and my story The Worst Feeling Ever.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Aleister Wept**

I suppose somebody's got to be sacrificed. If it turned out to be me, I have no right to complain.

– excerpt from _Atlas Shrugged_, by Ayn Rand

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**5. Crescendo**

June 13, 1998

"C'mon Ally-oop – whatta ya think?" He turned in place, maintaining his carefully held posture.

"I think it's awful. You look nothing like him."

"There is a 96% likelihood that you are engaging in hyperbole."

"Oh, very funny." Aleister crossed his arms, glaring at him. "You don't sound like him either."

"I dunno. I thought I did a pretty good impression." Beyond watched his friend, detecting a certain tremulousness about the mouth and deciding he was doing a better job of it than Aleister would admit. _I know I got the makeup right this time_, Beyond thought, _but I can't get my nose any smaller without slicing it up_. _That's not happening_.

"Your pitch is off. And you're still too gravelly."

"Henh, henh, henh – see, you _do_ want me to improve." Savoring his friend's chagrined expression, Beyond cleared his throat. "I am perfectly capable of being more than a mere mimic, Aleister."

Aleister's bloodshot eyes went wide for a moment. "That's . . . closer to it, but, Beyond –" He made an exasperated gasp. "This is pointless. You know we aren't meant to be precise imitations of L personally. No one outside of us actually knows what he looks like anyway! If it comes down to us replacing him, we'll have to do it as ourselves, and –"

"This isn't about that – don't be so obtuse! I'm doing this for you."

"_What?_" Aleister's face flushed red. "Don't patronize me. This is nothing more than an affront, a slap in my face, and you know it."

"You told me what happened, Ally." Beyond's grin stretched his face. "Remember Christmas of '96? Irish coffees all night at that pub, until we started doing shots and dancing with the locals. That's when you told me all about it. You watched L fuck some girl. You got off on it! But you _didn't _tell me you kept some stills from the video feed of it – oh no, I had to figure _that_ out on my own."

"That's none of your business, you . . . _fucking_ prick!" Aleister's arms were at his sides now, ramrod straight with fists clenched. "I _hate_ it when you root around in my things as if you own them! And you should damn well know that dressing like him doesn't _make_ you him, and it does the exact opposite of soothing me, if that was your intent. Everything about what you're doing is wrong, and nothing –"

"You want him!" Beyond interrupted again. "Fine, I get it. But he _doesn't_ want you. He doesn't want any of us. He won't even let you get close . . . but _I_ will."

For once, Aleister was speechless. Stepping toward him, Beyond pressed his advantage. "He doesn't understand how connected we all are. We _need_ the connections, and they're unavoidable anyway. I can give you what you want. It could change everything." Beyond let his eyes drift to the crimson numbers floating above his friend's head, relaxing his expression, and altered his voice once more – smoother, a bit deeper, with a measured cadence, consonants slightly clipped. "Consider this an experiment, if you wish. There is no harm in exploring our capabilities and inclinations in this manner."

Already shaking his head, Aleister backed away, not seeming to notice that he was moving away from his door. "Absolutely not. This isn't an experiment, however you may want to characterize it, and this is _not_ what I want. Even if you managed to imitate him precisely, I would still know it's you. I would still know this is a _lie_." Connecting with the wall behind him, he jumped slightly, eyes darting away and then back to Beyond's. "We've been friends a long time, Beyond. Please don't muck it all up now."

Beyond felt his mouth twist. "Friends, huh? Are you sure? I understand, Ally-oop. You don't have to tell me I'm not worthy. I've known _that_ for years."

"That's not –"

"_Shut_ up." Beyond stalked closer, bringing his nose within inches of Aleister's. "I'm doing this for you because you've made yourself miserable pining over a cipher, an empty symbol! You will never get any closer to him than you are now –"

"I accept that!" Aleister yelled, scowling at him. "I don't expect anything –"

"_And_, when he's _done_ using you as his little accountant or errand boy, you'll never hear from him again! L isolates himself on purpose – you should know that better than I do. But _I'm_ right here. I've always been here for you, Ally-oop, even when you didn't see me because your head was in the clouds, and I always _will_ be here for you. I might not be a perfect replica, but then a perfect replica would have left you too. Use your imagination." He cleared his throat again, tilting his head. "If you allow yourself to view me as the one you could love, you should be able to achieve some measure of happiness. You do wish to be happy, do you not, Aleister?"

"My 'happiness' has nothing to do with –"

Beyond stopped Aleister's mouth with his own, pressing him back against the wall. He slipped his tongue past slackened lips and wound it around, prodding the immobile muscle within. Pinning his friend's shoulders with clutching hands, Beyond took Aleister's accelerating heartbeat as assent and moved his body closer.

Aleister jerked away, whipping his face to one side. "Stop it! I know this isn't what _you_ want – you're not even gay! You shouldn't try and subvert what you are for any reason." Bringing his arms up between them, he broke Beyond's hold and pushed him away.

"How the fuck would you know?" Beyond widened his stance, still slouched, ready to dodge and intercept if needed.

"Because you talk about girls all the time! You ogle them, you say rude things about them – you have a stash of porn and stolen panties in your room! _Which_ you use for masturbation, something I've caught you at twice."

"Think that's a coincidence? Don't be so heteronormative. I _wanted_ you to catch me. I wanted you to want me. And if you think I don't want you now," Beyond gestured at his tented jeans, leering, "then you're just not paying attention."

Aleister's lips were pressed together in a thin line, his skin pale, lamplight reflecting in the water of his eyes. "You don't understand."

"I don't have to." _I understand better than you'll ever know, Ally-oop_, he thought. Beyond closed the distance between them, placing one spread palm on Aleister's chest. "We're stronger together. This will fix everything." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Just let me in." Swooping low with his other hand, he deftly undid the top button of Aleister's trousers, yanking down the zipper, suppressing a smile as his friend tried to push his hand away.

"No! _Listen_ to me. I don't want this!" Aleister caught Beyond's roving hand in his own. "You've always been my best friend. Don't let me lose that too."

"You won't lose anything! Well, maybe _one_ thing . . ." Beyond grinned. "And don't pretend we haven't drifted apart. This is our chance to be closer." He wondered why Aleister was being so stubborn about something as simple and stupid as sex. _British upbringing_, he thought. _He's too fucking uptight_. "We'll still be best friends – that won't change."

"Oh really?" Aleister sneered, knocking Beyond's hand off his chest. "Well, which is it then? Because a few moments ago you said, and I quote: 'It could change everything.'" He mimicked Beyond's voice perfectly. "Pick a lie and stick to it, would you?"

Heat flooded Beyond's face, and he felt it twist. Yanking his hands out of Aleister's, he shoved the boy and watched his head bounce off the wall with a thud. "You're always complaining that I'm not open enough with you, and the _second_ I confess my true feelings, you shit all over me? I have always been here for you, always! Why can't you be there for me just once?"

Rubbing the back of his head with one hand, Aleister remained propped with his back to the wall, half-deflated as he stared at the floor. "You've got it backwards, as usual. I am . . . _always_ doing what you want. And now, the one time I actually say no, you try and push me into it." The hand that was holding up his undone trousers was shaking, though his voice was calm and even. "I know you well enough to recognize that no part of this is for my benefit. I wonder if anything we've done together ever was."

Beyond stared at him, calculating. _I can still salvage this_, he thought. _This can still work_. He took a sharp breath. "Then I guess _you_ don't understand."

Head tilting, Aleister looked up, almost meeting his eyes. "You're doing this in anger, trying to gain control. You resent me for the way we've grown apart, so you've decided to use what you perceive as a weakness against me. You say L uses me, but you've been using me from the start, and at this point I'm nothing more than a prize to you, a trophy, a thing to take away from L, even _if_ I'm only an errand boy to him. But that's not the worst bit." Aleister met his eyes. "You're really doing this because you think that if I were to love you instead of L, you'd be that much closer to replacing him. To think that you could 'win' somehow by erasing L from the hearts of those who love him just feeds into your horrible delusion that you could become him – something you will never be."

Heart hammering in his chest, Beyond stared. He watched Aleister take an unsteady breath and reach to zip up his trousers. Blood roared in his ears, and for a moment, he didn't realize that Aleister was speaking again.

He watched him move off the wall, his still-watery eyes lifting to meet his own, and Beyond lashed out, punching Aleister's jaw before the thought of striking had even dawned in his mind. The force of the blow slammed Aleister's head back against the wall. Immediately their motions seemed to slow, as if they were now under water or caught in fresh amber.

Off-balance and red-faced, Aleister stepped to one side, but Beyond boxed him in, the visual and the tactile taking over for the senses that were insensible. Widened eyes, bared teeth, tensed muscles – the boundaries between them fell away, a single angry animal taking their places. Beyond found himself tearing at him, feeling his own voice bellowing in his throat without hearing or knowing the words.

Aleister slipped from his grip, dropping low and pivoting, but Beyond was fast, and stronger. He tripped Aleister, knocking him to the floor. (_Mine_.) Crimson winked from Aleister's face. (_My face_.) Crimson numbers floated with him, tethered. (_Let him go!_) Beyond's vision came like a slide show now, vivid snapshots in honeyed light.

Swung fist, knuckles split, raw red.

Grey cloth ripped, crumpled, thrown aside.

White teeth, chapped, ragged lips.

Elliptical bite marks and long red scratches on smooth skin with scattered freckles, a fractal in red and pink.

Hair, wound around fingers, pulled taut, caught in sunlight and spun to gold.

Elbows thrown back, deflected.

A birthmark, a stray comma nestled at the small of the back.

Dirty fingernails digging into plumped flesh.

The single animal connecting with itself, a rough communion, sacrament torn.

Bloodied fingers scraping worn wood floorboards.

Every detail, every image, down to the dust motes spinning in sunbeams, pressed into memory to be stored for as long as Beyond continued to be.

When the roar of blood finally quieted, Beyond did something he'd never done before: apologized and meant it. He felt strangely separate, fragmented, the angry animal since burst into parts. Their bodies were still half-naked and bleeding as they lay there, so close, yet it felt like they were farther apart than ever. Beyond was numb, the tactile sense dropping away as other senses returned. His vision never wavered. He wondered if being blind would make a difference, or if the knowledge he'd never wanted, never asked for, would still find a way to him. He wondered if he would feel freed or trapped if he no longer knew, since the information would still exist whether he could see it or not. _Names_. _Dates_. _Always immovable_. _Nothing changes except the people slung under the floating words and numbers_. _Why have the information if I can't do anything?_ _Why even exist if it's all predetermined?_ _What's the fucking point?_

He watched as Aleister silently redressed, pulling torn clothing over torn flesh without wincing, eyes somehow dry. Beyond's tactile sense returned as he felt his mouth form the words again: "I'm sorry."

The boy didn't respond, as if Aleister was already beyond Beyond. Outwardly still despite the quaking within him, Beyond remained on the floor of Aleister's room, uncovered. He wanted his friend to yell at him. He'd have accepted a beating – encouraged it, even. Anything to balance them once more. To his disappointment, Aleister calmly walked to the door of his own room as if ceding territory to a conqueror.

"You kept shouting 'Love me' over and over." Aleister did not turn, his voice finding its way back to Beyond. "It seems you've no idea what love is."

Beyond dropped his eyes, staring implacably at the boy's ankle. "I don't want your pity," he rasped.

"It's all I have left for you."

Aleister's last words rang in his ears as he lay there in dust and blood on the floor of a room not his own and knew that there was nothing left for him at Wammy House anymore. It was almost a relief. What hurt Beyond the most wasn't the pity or the emptiness or even the loss – it was the fact that Aleister was right. Beyond did want to take L's place in all things, including in the hearts of those who loved him, and he'd sacrificed his one real friendship only to fail. He'd lied to himself and believed it. Instead of trying to help his friend, he'd tried to take something from his rival, his enemy. Beyond wanted to scream but settled for bashing his forehead once against the floor.

Dizzy, he stood, hesitantly pulling his jeans up. Myriad possibilities of what to do next swam in his mind, and he could not decide between them. He wasn't even sure there was any point in trying.

Teeth clenched, his back straightened of its own accord. _Fuck that shit_, he thought. _I can still try to help Ally-oop, even if he never talks to me again_. _I'll put the choice in his hands_. _I do __**not**__ give up_. _And if I can't beat fate?_ _I'll make it my bitch_.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

Author's Note: For the record, I take the issue of rape very seriously. I found this upsetting to write, but it kind of all poured out of me at once. Beyond really didn't set out to hurt Aleister, but we all know what the path paved with good intentions leads to . . .

There are more motivations for any single act than we often notice. Even, and perhaps especially, the unjustified acts.

Definition: Crescendo – rapid rise in volume; musical climax

Songs: "No Hope = No Fear" – Soulfly

"Dismembered and Molested" – Cannibal Corpse


	6. Offertory

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: B hated nothing more than he hated fate, and A wanted a life worth living. For different reasons, L was important to them both. Rated M for language/violence/gore/noncon. Some spoilers for Death Note: Another Note, and my story The Worst Feeling Ever.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Aleister Wept**

And if it rains, a closed car at four.

And we shall play a game of chess,

Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

– excerpt from "The Wasteland," by T.S Eliot

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**6. Offertory**

August 3, 1998

The sound of the bell dogged his footsteps, each clang timed to match every third impact of sneaker on pavement. He'd eschewed the limo ride to leave the service early. He did not want comfort, and he had no patience for the pity-tinged chit-chat that inevitably followed funerals. A scant hour had passed since he'd stalked away from the gravesite, leaving the minister's droning in the distance, but the church bell would not leave him alone.

A fat drop wet the back of his neck, and he raised his gaze just enough to see that the looming house was still several blocks away under a shrinking patch of blue sky. _Of course_, he thought. More raindrops hit him, each circle of moisture marking him and the sidewalk as he plodded along until the marks merged, the spreading stain becoming uniform. It made him think of the cyclical reuse of water, dripping down, pooling, evaporating back to the clouds and falling again. It made him think of blood on cobblestones. It made him wonder what the threshold was, the point at which the deaths of people blended together, blurring the tragic into the expected, the inevitable, and thus the mundane. _Repetition, the endless cycle, death feeding into more death, our efforts irrelevant_ . . .

He shook his head. Recalling the unopened letter from Beyond to Aleister, L wondered less at what Beyond might have done that would have induced him to apologize and more at why Aleister had saved a letter he hadn't been willing to read. Beyond's continued mad ravings about knowing when people would die were enough to warrant sending him off for psychiatric treatment. And to think that Beyond had been filling Aleister's head with such nonsense for some time . . . _Were you leaving me evidence?_ L thought. After a moment, he shook his head again. _Even without knowing the content of the letter, Aleister would have predicted what Beyond might say – he was better at reading him than anyone else was_. _Perhaps Aleister kept it out of sentimental habit . . . or perhaps he was simply allowing Beyond's lunacy to provide its own evidence, even if he had no direct hand in Aleister's death_.

The low rumble of an engine rose over the sound of the last ring of the bell, and L peered back over his shoulder, relieved to see a blue and grey truck trundling along to make a turn down a side street. Not a black car. Watari had not wanted him to take a walk alone. Despite this, the man had stayed behind with the Wammy House children all gathered around the rectangular gash in the ground. L knew that Watari was not above following him in secret regardless of his wishes, but he also knew that the older man would want to stay and shepherd his flock, so L was unlikely to see a limo rolling along a block or more behind him. Sighing with relief, yet weary, L kept moving, the rain quickening to mock his slow, steady pace.

Aleister's assistance had been key in the outcome of what Watari had dubbed "the Detective Wars." L felt he would have won without it, but there was no discounting the usefulness of timely information, which Aleister's remote work had provided in spades. L still had mixed feelings about the consequences. With one detective now dead and the other in a coma, plus the world's raised awareness of all three detectives, law enforcement in several countries were now clamoring for help from Eraldo Coil, Deneuve, and L – which of course meant they were all calling _him_, though they did not know that. L had already begun accepting cases as all three identities, doing his best to maintain the established personas of each. He knew he would have to proceed cautiously in shaping those personas into something more useful. Any sudden changes would cause suspicion. Being so busy, he hadn't had the time to speak to Aleister again after thanking him for playing a role in his success. The possibility that Aleister had felt guilty over what had happened to the other detectives ate at L, as did the notion that he should have seen the suicide coming.

Faced with the gate at last, L slipped his magnetic keycard through the lock and leaned forward for the retinal scanner, standing in the downpour waiting for the iron spires to separate. A thunk and a creak and the gate was swinging inward. L loped through, his feet unaccountably taking him to the garage instead of the house, to the hulking company of cold machinery, their potential for motion temporarily arrested. He didn't examine the decision. Dark, cool, dry. Empty of life. His preferred environment.

The smell of rain-dampened stone came in with him to join the stronger scents of motor oil, paint thinner, and musty wood. It was a large garage, almost more of a private warehouse given Watari's love of cars, but its familiarity made it feel smaller. Safe. L's breathing eased as he walked in past the van and the empty spot where the limo would be, and muscles he hadn't realized were tight loosened with each step.

"Nice of you to show, Lawli."

L's head shot up at the sound, the growling voice too close in the darkened garage. His grey eyes met dark brown ones as the rain pounded the ground outside. "They told me you left."

"I didn't go far. I stuck around just to see your face. It was worth it." Beyond's grin did not touch his eyes as he advanced, and his hair did not quite conceal a bruise on his forehead.

"Did you kill him? Or did you just drive him to it?"

A dry-throated laugh spilled from Beyond's mouth as he stepped closer. "I had nothing to do with it. He was always going to die that day. But _how_ he died? You get the credit for that."

L narrowed his eyes. "Your delusions about death notwithstanding . . . suicide is the ultimate defiance, the ultimate selfish act. Aleister was smarter than that, and more giving. If he had had better friends – or really, _any_ friends . . ."

"Look who's talking about not having any friends, henh, henh." Beyond's eyes were bloodshot, and his laugh rang hollow. "It's good to hear you admit _you_ were never his friend – that's more honest than usual. But he was _my_ best friend. I would have done whatever it took to save him. I even tried. You couldn't even be bothered to talk to him."

L felt a sharp burst of something – gratitude? guilt? – upon realizing that Aleister had kept his word not to tell Beyond of the work he'd been doing for L. He hadn't expected him to. Then again, it was possible that Beyond was lying. "Considering your 'gifts' for understanding and kindness, your supposed efforts to save him had the predictable result. In which case, it's a wonder he didn't kill himself sooner."

For a second, they stared at each other, eyes reddened, a high flush in their cheeks in contrast to paling skin, nostrils flaring. Beyond let loose a wail, breaking the moment, and leapt at L with both hands outstretched as if to strangle him. L dodged to one side and shoved Beyond's back, amplifying his momentum and causing him to sprawl on oil-stained concrete. Legs swinging up as he rolled, Beyond kicked L's shin, and L jumped back to dodge the second blow, landing half-crouched and waiting.

If L's expression was half-feral, Beyond's was fully so as he came to a stop on all fours, teeth bared, sweat on his brow to echo the raindrops on L's. They looked nothing alike except in the most superficial ways – dark hair, dark eyes, skinny, disaffected boys – yet even Beyond's body sought to turn him into a hunched-over doppelganger of L. _Is it still a 'mirror' image_, L wondered, _if the mirror is warped or cracked?_ He shuddered.

From the moment he'd first heard the news, L had been in motion, if unfeeling. Automatic, the travel had passed in a blur of numb introspection, clean examining of facts, motivations. He'd made rational inferences. _Multiple pre-mortem contusions and scratches, indicative of a recent physical altercation, combined with scarring from older injuries_, he'd thought, reading the autopsy report. _Evidence of childhood abuse as well as ongoing maltreatment_. Treating Aleister's death like a case had cocooned the wound. Now facing his "back-up" – and like the rival detectives, his successors were now spent, with one dead and the other useless – L felt that wound rip wide open. Aleister was gone. _Aleister_. The boy who had been as close to a brother as L had ever had, or ever would have. There was no justice in it. _Don't you wish there was?_ L's own words, spoken to the boy long ago, came back to him, and he felt the blood tearing through him as if the cells themselves were angry. Maybe the wound had never been numbed for Beyond, maybe he lacked that kind of filter. Maybe it was better that way than to have the filter fail.

Arm arcing toward him, Beyond's hand opened to fling debris at L's face. As L raised his arm to block, he deflected some wood chips, dirt, and something metal – _A penny for your thoughts_, his mind supplied as he saw the coin land heads up. He moved back, but was too slow to avoid Beyond's punch to his gut. Air whooshed from his lungs. Bent and reeling, L dodged the next blow only to have Beyond catch him up against the wall in the empty spot between the van and the Lamborghini, fist slamming home to split his lip, knee crashing into L's groin, not once but twice.

Pain brought clarity, focus. L didn't care that Beyond was laughing, literally, in his face. He didn't care that he tasted blood, that his ears rang, that the bloom of pain at his crotch expanded as if it would fill him. The circumstances, the reasons for their conflict, all fell away. It was only physics and biology now. As Beyond's right hand reached toward his throat, L snatched two fingers of it and twisted hard, feeling them snap. Ignoring the sounds as irrelevant, L focused on motion. He slammed his forehead into Beyond's nose, noting the crunch, and as the younger teen stumbled backward, L jabbed his throat with an elbow. Choking, Beyond attempted to knee him again and L spun, deflecting the leg and delivering a kick of his own that sent Beyond face-first into the wall behind him.

Training in judo and tai chi, though not insignificant, were not in the forefront of L's mind. Action and reaction, cause and effect – nothing else mattered. Beyond turned, spitting blood, and lunged, eyes wide with fury. L didn't dodge. L swung his fist as hard as he could, knocking Beyond's jaw sideways, and then dropped and spun low, toppling Beyond onto his back. Immediately, L was upon him, hitting Beyond's face again and again until he dimly realized that this was inefficient and began to strangle him.

"Henh, henh, henh . . ." The gurgling laugh spilled from Beyond's bloodied mouth. "_Told_ you we were the same." Despite the wreck of his face, his smile seemed genuine, almost sweet, as if he was elated.

Fingers still pressed into the meager flesh of Beyond's neck, L began to regain an acute awareness of himself, one he hadn't fully realized he'd possessed until it returned but which must have been present all along. It felt raw. _I know what I'm capable of_, he thought. _I've known for a long time_. _I've kept myself in check before now_. L stopped squeezing, though he did not move off. His face now smooth and blank, he spoke evenly down at Beyond: "Now you know how it feels to have a 'friend' like you."

Letting go, L rolled off Beyond, suppressing the urge to wince, and began walking away as if nothing had happened. The rain outside was slowing, and steam roiled about the gravel of the driveway as the slanting summer sun hit it. He was almost to the garage door before Beyond called out to him.

"I know what you are! You can't hide it from me anymore!"

Hands limp at his sides, L turned. "I know what we _all_ are. Ugly, isn't it?"

Beyond's smile was gone. "He loved you! You don't love anyone!"

"Correct." L did not blink. "And that is the one thing you and I truly have in common."

"The one thing? _One_ thing?" Beyond's eyes bulged in his bruised and bloodied face. "I wish you could have seen your face when –"

"The differences between us are myriad, but none is more important than the fact that you choose to do harm because you like it. Harm that I cause is either incidental or necessary, and I do _not _like it."

"Henh, henh, henh! Oh, you lie so well you even convince yourself. You liked hitting me, admit it!"

"I did what was necessary to stop your attack. Which worked, by the way."

"You fucking prick! I could have killed you if I wanted! I _let_ you pin me!" Strain caused Beyond's voice to crack.

"Yes, I'm _sure_ you did." L's face was still blank as he turned away, eyes going half-lidded.

"I hate you!"

"Hm. I can't say the same, B. You just aren't important enough to hate. Despite your intellect and the opportunities you've been given, you are a failure as my back-up and a failure as a human being. Perhaps I should be flattered that you feel so strongly toward me, yet you've done nothing constructive with this. It's a pity that your sociopathy makes you more hindrance than help even in your own endeavors." L stepped onto wet gravel.

"You're wrong, L." Beyond's voice followed him out. "You're wrong about me. You're wrong about everything! I understand more than you do because I see the world more clearly – I always have. I'll prove you wrong. I'll prove you're the failure."

L pivoted, feet crunching in the driveway, and looked back into the darkness of the garage. "Then answer me this: if you could have killed me just now, as you say, then am I fated to die today?" He watched as Beyond's eyes widened before becoming clenched in a scowl. "Ah. It seems not even you have confidence in your own misguided beliefs. Apparently you were projecting when you spoke of those who lie to themselves." Hands slipping into pockets, L turned away again. "Take comfort in the fact that you are no longer my successor."

Sneakers scuffing along the driveway, booting the occasional rock further ahead of him, L resumed his departure. He decided that a roving limousine and a series of hotel rooms would be more of a home to him than Wammy House could be anymore. No sounds came from behind him, as expected. Whether Beyond was watching him in silent fury or was making his own departure, L didn't care. As far as he was concerned, Beyond didn't exist anymore, or may as well not have.

Approaching the gate, he saw that it was swinging wide as if to greet him. As he watched, he saw Roger pass through, shoulders hunched, wearing the same beaten grey suit he'd worn to the church service, though he had not been to the gravesite. L wondered if the man would even notice him, and as he had that thought, Roger's head jerked up.

"Oi! What are you doing here?"

"I went for a walk," L said simply.

"Did your walk include a fall down a flight of stairs and into a puddle?" Roger stepped closer. "What the bloody hell happened to you?"

"Hm . . ." Absently, L tongued his split lip and resisted the urge to touch his face. The damage was irrelevant to him, and he could check it later. "Nothing important. I did not see you after the church service. Where were you?"

"Had to pay them. They prefer that sort of thing be done . . . in person." Roger sighed. "I came straight here after to get set up for the wake." Cutting his eyes toward L, Roger resumed his walk toward the front door, passing in front of L. "He's looking for you, you know."

For a moment, L wondered if Roger had meant Beyond, until he realized that was unlikely. _His 'Quills', of course_, he thought. "Watari saw me leave. I had thought that he would remain with the children." L remained rooted to the ground.

"He let Sheila, Kurt, and Sally stay with them – they'll be loading into the bus shortly, I'd expect."

"I have not seen him."

"Well, he probably thought you'd be anywhere but here, considering."

L's head drooped, and he stared at the ground. Had he walked the other way around the House, he could have traversed the courtyard and stood over the very spot where Aleister's life had ended. He was not specifically avoiding it. There was nothing there for him to examine anymore, the spot itself having been thoroughly cleaned once photos and evidence had been taken. Dimly, L heard Roger's footsteps stop.

"Look, it's just as well you're here. There's a package for you, just arrived this morning. C'mon then."

L briefly considered walking out through the gates and away – whatever the package was, it could wait. But he relented, exhaustion somehow catching him, guiding him to shuffle after Roger off the driveway onto the stone path and all the way to the front steps and through the front door. He hadn't felt warm until the rain had stopped, and the humidity was starting to feel oppressive. Entering the House, the chill from the shade soothed him. He shut the door behind him automatically and followed Roger into his office.

Their footsteps were the only sounds in the House. Ordinarily, L welcomed the quiet, but it felt wrong not to hear the murmurs of children's voices or the patter of their feet, large and small. L came to a stop on the rug in front of Roger's desk, head down as if he was a child who'd been called to the office for making trouble. Numbness had settled in his chest again, an uneasy pet trying to reacclimate and sleep there anew. The sound of a drawer opening and closing brought his head up.

"Here it is." Roger was holding up a thick padded envelope, white plastic material with circular indentations indicating pockets of air. "It's from your usual source, but I scanned it anyway to be sure. No explosive devices or metal of any kind." His eyebrow was raised as L took the package from him, but he did not ask the question that seemed to wait on his tongue.

"Thank you, Roger." L held the envelope by its corner with thumb and forefinger at his side, letting it dangle next to his knees. He didn't look at it. He stood there, silent inside and out, eyes unfocused, aware that Roger was making a phone call. Papers were scattered across Roger's desk next to a book on robotics and a teacup, white with blue flowers. There were photos on a side table behind the desk, one of which was turned on its face, as if a picture frame could express sorrow or shame. The clatter of handset on cradle barely caught his attention as Roger looked up from the phone.

"He's on his way."

L blinked, head tilting, eyes finding Roger's. "Hm?"

"Watari, as you like to call him. If you'd rather stay at the hotel tonight, he'll bring –"

"Yes. Thank you. That . . . would be preferable." L dropped his eyes to stare at patterns in the rug. He wished that he could leave England right away, but he knew that Watari had things he needed to do here before departing again, and L did not want to leave without him this time.

"He was my favorite, you know."

L felt his face lift, brow crimping. "I . . . suspect that would have surprised him."

Roger's head jerked in a silent snort of a laugh. "I hate playing favorites, so I tried not to show it. Maybe that was a mistake." He glanced down at his desk. "Contrary to what you might think, I don't hate you all – never did. But Aleister was the best of the bunch."

L nodded. "I agree." Sighing, he turned and shuffled toward the door. "For the record, Roger, I never thought you hated us. If anything, your aggravation with our behavior indicates a depth of caring intense enough to cause you pain. Given his superior social sense, I am sure Aleister understood at least that much about you, if I am able to grasp it." He looked over his shoulder to see Roger staring at him with his mouth slightly open. He bowed his head toward the older man, deciding that it wasn't necessary to say the words "It's not your fault."

A rumble and growl preceded L's reopening the front door. He was just in time to see the tail end of a red Ferrari fishtailing its way out the gate and down the road. _Watari will be less than pleased with that_, L thought, _but this is not the first time that Beyond has stolen that car_. Still gripping the padded envelope without looking at it, L perched on the front steps and waited for Watari.

It was not until much later, at the hotel, that he opened the envelope, shook out the contents, and read the letter within. L had thought that he'd both understood and embraced his solitude for some time, but only now did he feel truly alone. His head rested on his knees, denim dampening. Watari was not present to witness his tears, and L could not decide if he was regretful or grateful for this.

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Author's Note: This probably seems like the end, but it isn't. It's a longer chapter, but the last chapter, though shorter, is more important. I'll post it as soon as I can. For those who live on, a death can cause a transition in behavior – some might act out more, others might close in on themselves. Beyond is a few months past age 17 here, and L is coming up on his 19th birthday. Wounded animals both, reacting in ways both similar and different.

Thanks for reading.

Definition: Offertory – sixth section of a twelve-part Requiem Mass

Songs: "Paranoid Android" – Radiohead

"Stockholm Syndrome" – Yo la Tengo


	7. Coda

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: B hated nothing more than he hated fate, and A wanted a life worth living. For different reasons, L was important to them both. Rated M for language/violence/gore/noncon. Some spoilers for Death Note: Another Note, and my story The Worst Feeling Ever.

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**Aleister Wept**

He feels guilty. They all do. But I don't blame anyone. I knew what might happen. But how it hurts.

– excerpt from "Flowers for Algernon," by Daniel Keyes

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**7. Coda**

**Box 98-232370-01X, filecode Aerial, authorization level L, entered August 4, 1998: LOCKED**

Itemized Contents:

1. Copy of Watership Down, leather-bound, pages worn

2. Photograph, 4"x6", black and white, of three boys in swimtrunks near a pool, ages 11 through 13

3. Decoupage, 11"x16", intricately cut leaves of various colors depicting detailed landscape of Wammy's House, point of view from the backyard, some damage from folding

4. Hand-drawn layout of room assigned to A, noting all furniture and seven hiding spots (related items to be found in Box 98-232370-02X)

5. Letter, handwritten, black ink on white stationary:

_31 July, 1998_

_L:_

_I expect you've already completed your investigation into my death, so this letter will likely be superfluous, but I know you loathe loose ends. On the off-chance that you haven't come to this conclusion already, I wanted to tell you that I alone am responsible for my death. You will wish to place blame on someone, and I know precisely who, but I'm asking you to let it go. I have._

_You're wondering why. You shouldn't do, of course, but that's a bit like asking water not to be wet. Do you remember the story Flowers for Algernon? I always felt more sympathy for the mouse, honestly, since he had no choice in the matter of what he was made to become. It's why I feel worse for you, the first of us, than I do for myself, though perhaps it's better not to see what's coming._

_The prospect of meting out some semblance of justice in an unjust world was bad enough, like trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon, but I was willing. I'm glad that I helped you, when I could and when you let me, so no regrets there. But to dispense justice without maintaining any true connection to the world – and specifically to other people, except as objectified suspects and victims – would be unbearable to me and is ultimately morally untenable. The source of justice is other people, the kindness within them. Living as an ascetic, judging from afar? There is no kindness in that, and as I've said before, justice without kindness is no justice at all._

_Please don't construe this as a belated reaction to your reaction. I could have lived with the knowledge that you do not love me – have done, in fact. I cannot, however, live without any kind of love, without any hope for it, shut off even from its possibility. I see the trap you are in. You were not alone in its construction. I would have saved you from it had I not become trapped myself. I'm sorry. If this last act of mine shines a light on the critical flaws in the role you've taken on, then perhaps I will save you still._

_Be well. Be free._

_Yours,_

_Aleister_

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

Author's Note: Seems only fitting that I let Aleister have the last word.

That letter – basically Aleister's suicide note – was something I wrote before I even penned Tinsel by Morning, which was the first fic I ever posted with Aleister in it. I did revise it somewhat, but otherwise the letter appears as I initially wrote it. I had a fairly clear idea of who Aleister was right from the start, and the more I expanded on his character, the more I liked him. But I had resolved to stick to the few details that were known about 'A' from the novel _Death Note: Another Note_, which were: 1. A is male, 2. A was L's first successor, and 3. A killed himself. Aleister may appear in other fics, possibly in flashbacks, but I wanted to bring an end to his story and give him his own resolution.

Thank you very much to everyone who read this, and particularly to those who took the time to review. Hugs to loveinlimbo and Sashocirrione! Getting feedback on what I'm doing is always helpful, and I really appreciate it.

Definition: Coda – ending theme

Songs: "i i e e e" – Tori Amos

"Oh Comely" – Neutral Milk Hotel


End file.
